


The Adventure of the Insistent Client

by Violsva



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Mentions of Death in Childbirth, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Prostitution, Unsafe Abortion, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes searches for a missing young woman, and Watson finds himself reminded of things he'd prefer not to think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Insistent Client

It is rather a relief to set pen to paper in the certain knowledge that the words will never be read. No amount of editing will make this case publishable – not that Holmes will let me publish anything at all, these days. However, I am by now in the inconvenient habit of keeping records of everything we come across, much to the detriment of our sitting room.

Holmes and I were at home one morning several months after his return, he reading the paper and I looking out the window and considering taking some exercise, when my gaze was drawn by a most unlikely figure. Baker Street has had to accustom itself to unusual personages since Sherlock Holmes has taken up residence in it, but it was still not a natural setting for the young woman determinedly making her way up the street. I suspected I knew where she was headed even before I saw her turn towards our door.

“Who can that be?” asked Holmes as the bell rang.

“One of your clients, or at least I hope so,” said I. “God knows why else she would be here. A young woman, blonde, short of stature and quite thin, wearing a very revealing green dress, and a faded red kerchief over her hair. Aged, I should think, around twenty, and I fear a member of a rather disreputable profession.”

He stared at me, then took in my position by the window and grinned. At this point there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, showed our visitor in.

“Your guest, Mr. Holmes,” she said, and pulled the door sharply to behind her.

The scandalous apparition before us focused her gaze on Holmes at once. “Sir,” she said, “I’ve seen you working, though you won’t know me, and I need your help with something.”

“So I supposed,” said Holmes. “You will forgive my mentioning it, but you are not my usual sort of client.”

She swallowed. “I know I can’t pay you, sir,” she said, glancing at him through her eyelashes, her voice husky and insinuating, “but I thought you and me might come to some _other_ sort of agreement.”

“I have no interest in anything of the sort,” said Holmes, with some disgust. She winced and turned to go. “A moment,” said he. “If you will sit down, miss, I confess I am interested in what would drive you to seek out my assistance. I am perfectly willing to waive my fees in cases which I find to be of surpassing interest.”

The girl – frankly, I could not think of her as anything else, though spiritually she was clearly far from childhood – turned back and stared at him. “You mean you don’t want me, but you’re still interested?”

“Very well put,” said Holmes.

“You want to know why I’m such a fool as to come here, then. Did you say you might help without being paid?” she asked.

“Indeed,” said Holmes, and I noted some amusement in his face at her phrasing. “Do sit down and tell me what has happened. I am Sherlock Holmes, as you guessed, and this is my colleague, Dr. Watson. And you?”

She stared at him like an owl, still standing. “Nell Howard,” she said. “It’s about a friend of mine. I can’t talk to the police, and I ain’t got nothing else I can do, and I ain’t about to just forget her if I can help it.” All her shallow flirtatiousness had fallen away in her confusion, and now she looked like any of the grieving women whom we were often faced with, except for the added strain in her face due to her poverty, and the clear signs of her style of living upon her person.

“Come sit down, Miss Howard,” said Holmes again. “Your feet are no doubt tired from walking all the way here from Whitechapel, and you have not eaten today.” I at once rang the bell for Mrs. Hudson. Miss Howard at last moved forward and sat, looking very uncomfortable on the armchair and still staring at him. I could see that this was one of the few occasions where my friend’s easily assumed charm would relax our client even less than his frequent abruptness and irritation might have. I could think of no way to calm her further, though my heart went out to the girl, clearly in terrible health and a terrible life.

Upon Mrs. Hudson’s arrival, I asked our still-frowning landlady for a tray of breakfast, and Holmes smiled. “Perhaps,” he said to Miss Howard, “you would prefer to wait to tell us your story until you have eaten?”

She frowned at him. “Eaten?” she said.

“Of course; you are after all a guest,” said Holmes. She stared at him.

“You’re laughing at me,” she said at last. “Treating me like a lady – I don’t know what you think is funny, but I guess it must be something like that.”

“No, I assure you,” said Holmes. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Just put it down here. Now, Miss Howard, please, refresh yourself. Would it help if I told you it was only to make it easier for you to tell your story? Watson will tell you that I dislike being interrupted when considering strange tales, and you fainting from hunger would be a most profound interruption.”

Miss Howard laughed, and I sighed with relief that she was calmer. “I ain’t likely to faint yet, Mr. Holmes, but if you don’t mind then I’ll go ahead.” The food on the tray vanished amazingly quickly. Miss Howard looked far better for the meal, though still strained and underslept.

“Now then,” said Holmes. “Tell me of your friend.”

Pain flashed across her face. “Her name’s Alice Ward. She – I’ve known her since we were kids. We lived together – we’ve been doing all right for a bit, we have a room, but I ain’t going to be able to afford it without her. She got into trouble and went to see someone to bring it off. And she didn’t come back. She’d only gone to Mrs. D– a friend of ours, who’s good to us, and she would’ve told me if anything had happened, and she’s never done no harm from it before, and she said Alice just left her for home, with no trouble. I know she’s probably dead, Mr. Holmes, but I can’t bear not being sure of it, if I could help her if she was still alive, and couldn’t you find her – I mean, her – her body – for me? Please.” She gulped after this torrent of words, and covered her face with a dirty handkerchief for a moment.

“Let me see if I have the course of events right,” said Holmes. “She left your rooms when?”

“Morning, three days ago. Tuesday.”

“Thank you. She then went to this abortionist, who treated her, and when did she leave her?”

“Noon, she said.”

“Had you any reason to think she would be later than usual – running errands, or meeting with friends?”

“Oh, no, sir, not after something like that. She’d just want to lie down. I waited all afternoon for her and then I had to go out.”

“Quite so. It was, I recall, very clear Tuesday, and has luckily continued so. She would, then, be in broad daylight the whole time. Could she have met someone else and gone home with them?”

“I asked all her friends, sir, and I don’t think she has any I don’t know. They ain’t the sort she’d go home with, anyway. I’ve been thinking she must’ve fainted on the way, but M– our friend says she thinks she would be fine. But it must be that. I just want to _know_.”

“She would have walked home? Alone?”

“Yes, of course.” Hansoms and omnibuses were clearly unknown in this woman’s life.

“After such an operation?”

“She’d have to pay more if she wanted a bed for a bit.”

“Of course. In the days before that, did she speak of anyone following her, or showing more than usual interest in her?”

“Oh, well, she didn’t say anything, Mr. Holmes. And most of the time we’re together. It wasn’t unusual.”

“But there was something?”

She shrugged. “Kids thinking to pick your pocket, girls what want something out of you, men what can’t pay you, men what can but you haven’t noticed them yet. There’s always someone following you.”

“Ah. I see.” He grimaced. “That makes it harder. The abortionist is known to you?”

“Yes, sir. She’s the one everyone we know goes to. Not just for that, I mean, but other things, of course. She’s always most careful and helpful, Mr. Holmes.”

I tried to keep my thoughts to myself as she spoke of it, but somehow the word helpful almost undid me. I looked over at Holmes. He raised an eyebrow, which could mean anything, and turned back to Miss Howard.

“You spoke to the woman.”

“Yes. The day after.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“She said everything went as it should be, and she’d told Alice to hurry home and come back or send me if there were problems or it didn’t work. She didn’t see her meet anyone and she didn’t talk about meeting anyone. She said Alice said she was going straight home.”

“And she herself was behaving just as usual?”

“Yes. Mr. Holmes, she ain’t done anything to Alice. She’d tell me if she was hurt. I mean it. She was worried like I was.”

“Did she say your friend was seriously affected by the operation?”

“Not seriously. And it wasn’t a whole operation, just a drink. She said she didn’t ought to have fainted on the way home. She thought she’d be all right walking.”

“So she could give you no explanation, then.”

“That’s why I’m here, ain’t it?”

“Why _did_ you come to me, when you cannot afford it and you know what I am likely to find?”

“I saw you around with the police when Mary Hall got killed, but I knew you wasn’t a copper. And you helped Diana MacAllister, and I know her, a bit. And you’re in all the papers. I guessed you might be able to help me, and Mr. Holmes, I just need to know what’s happened to her.” Her face showed no trace of hope, only pain. “Can you?”

“One moment,” he said, and leaned back, one hand to his temple but otherwise looking perfectly calm. He stayed so for some time, perhaps appearing casual or bored to our visitor, but I knew he was considering all the facts as hard as he could.

“I can learn nothing more without seeing for myself,” he said at last. “I am afraid your fears are right, Miss Howard, and I shall be able to do nothing except perhaps find her remains, but if you will be so good as to take us around the area I will do my best.”

“You?” said our guest, doubtfully. Holmes chuckled.

“Yes, we would appear rather odd, would we not? And I, at least, had better not appear in my own person in certain parts of town. Miss Howard, I hope you will make yourself comfortable in our absence. Watson, if you are coming, put on your oldest clothes.” He disappeared into his bedroom. I was extremely doubtful of the wisdom of leaving the girl alone in our sitting room, but if Holmes thought it would be all right I trusted him. Besides, he would be able to tell if anything had been interfered with.

I changed quickly, glanced in my mirror, and despaired of transforming the rest of my appearance the way Holmes could his. I did, however, take my heavy cane to replace my usual walking stick. I had been fast, but Holmes, though he had effected a far greater change in his appearance than I had, was faster. As I came down the stairs he was smiling at our amazed client in the person of an utterly disreputable knave.

“How’d you do that?” she was asking. “I ain’t sure it’s you at all.”

“Merely a little artistry,” he said. I could tell it amused him to speak so to her. “Ah, Watson! Come with me for a minute.” He led me into his bedroom and sat me down in front of his dressing table. His stage makeup was still laid out on the top.

“What are you going to do, Holmes?” I asked. He’d never attempted to disguise me before.

“The barest minimum,” he murmured. “Hold still, dear boy.”

His sponges tickled, but I endeavoured to do as he had asked. At last he ran his fingers through my hair, disarranging it, and said, “That’s all we can do for you, I think.” His tone was wry, but I saw in the mirror that he was smiling with pride in his work. “Do try to lose some of your upright military bearing, if possible, my dear doctor, and don’t limp.”

He had not disguised my face, only weathered it a little, so I looked dirty and tired. I frowned slightly at the mirror, and to my surprise while the expression was my usual one there was a hint of cruelty about my eyes and mouth that I hoped was not natural to me. Holmes smiled wider.

“One or the other, perhaps, but not both,” I said to my friend, and levered myself up out of the chair. “It is amazing, Holmes.” I enjoyed seeing him try to hide how pleased he was at the compliment to his skill.

“Let us go, then,” he said, and we returned to the sitting room. So far as I could tell, Miss Howard had not moved at all, and nothing was disturbed.

She had likely never been in a cab before, and stared around the interior of the four-wheeler like a child at the panto. Holmes had it let us off some ways away from the address she had given – the driver would not have gone much farther anyway – and we walked the rest of the way. He was subtly taking in every detail of our surroundings; I was holding my cane more firmly than usual and looking out for the mouths of alleys and strangers’ assessing glances.

“Here’s where I live,” said Miss Howard, stopping in front of a rooming house that, apart from the shadows in a few windows, I would have taken for an abandoned building. “You need to come inside?”

“It would be best,” said Holmes. She nodded and led us up. The staircase worried me greatly, but nothing collapsed under us, and at last we came to a room, barely large enough for the single bed it held.

It was not as filthy as the rest of the house, and I saw faint touches of personality attempting to conquer the barren shoddiness. The stained plaster walls supported some photographs cut from cheap magazines, and the table squeezed between the wall and the foot of the bed held a glass containing a few dusty paper flowers as well as the debris of a desperate existence. As I took in the scene, Holmes was carefully examining the scant items present and the dresses hung on nails on the wall.

“You were here all of Tuesday?” he asked absently.

“Yes. Normally I ain’t, but I was worried for her, and she might’ve needed help when she got back.”

“It does you credit. As I feared, there is very little I can observe in this room that is useful. However, do you recognize this?” He held up a rather bent visiting card. “It was in the pocket of her gown, the red one.”

“How do you know which ones are hers?” she asked, eyes wide.

“They have not been disturbed as recently. Is this familiar to you?”

She examined the card, but shook her head. “She never showed me no card, or said anyone had given her one. She got the richer men, though; she’s prettier. Who’s it from?”

He looked it over. “Mr. Harrington Edwards. Delivered by a gentleman, with an address written in pencil on the back by a young, robust, right-handed man who attended Harrow, writing in some haste with no support.” He scribbled the address on his cuff, then continued. “Held momentarily by a woman with small unwashed hands. Remained in the pocket of the dress for at least another wearing, most likely two. He gave it to her himself, then, probably about a week before her disappearance. She put it in her pocket, forgot about it, and went about her business.” He turned out the dress’s pocket. “She did not carry money in this pocket, only the other, or else she would have found it. Nothing else useful here. She did not wear this dress often, did she?”

“No,” said Miss Howard, “it’s stained the worst.”

“So if it had been weighing on her mind she would likely have removed it to look it over. Which she does not seem to have done. Forgive me, but could your friend read?”

“No more than me,” she said. “Neither of us can. That’s why the card’s so strange.”

“If she couldn’t have read it, she can’t be with him,” I said. “She must have taken it out of politeness and forgotten about it.”

“Indeed. A rather thoughtless man, our Mr. Harrington Edwards. However, if it was left at all ... Did she take in more money than usual one night last week, or the week before? She did not say anything of him?”

“No. Just that she hated the romantic ones, and she always said that.” I blushed. Miss Howard did not seem discomfited by the subject at all. “It was last Monday. She came back and gave me some guineas and change. I was happy, of course, but she seemed exhausted. But she smiled then – of course she did, her take that night paid for her to see ... our friend.”

“You will have to tell me her name eventually,” said Holmes. “Or she will.”

Miss Howard frowned. “She can do it, then. I promised I wouldn’t give her away, and even if I’m going to have to take you to her place I ain’t telling you no more than I have to.”

Her sense of honour was strangely charming. Holmes bowed. “I think I have found all I need to here,” he said. “Kindly take us to your abortionist, then, by the route you would have expected your friend to take home. I promise you no harm will come to her through me unless it is unavoidable.” I would have objected at that, but Holmes frowned at me and beckoned me to follow. I decided to leave my protests until he had gathered whatever information he needed for the case.

Holmes’ gaze continued to scan every detail of the streets we passed, though I doubted that even he would see anything useful days after the girl’s passage. The house we came to was very small, surprisingly well kept up, and possessed of a sign saying only “Female Physician – Enquire Within.” I watched Holmes as he briefly examined the premises and the alleys around. Then he considered me for a moment and took me aside.

“Watson, please tell me if you believe your presence will make it more difficult for me to speak with her.”

Of course he knew I was disturbed. “I will go with you, and keep quiet,” I said.

“You needn’t go that far,” said he. “If you think something is important to the case, ask. You are a doctor, after all. But anything else, we will discuss later.”

I nodded again, and he stepped away and smiled at Miss Howard.

“You had better introduce us,” he said. “You need not stay longer. I know you have already asked her all you wish.”

“Sure,” said Miss Howard. She walked up at once and knocked on the door.

The short, stocky woman who answered her knock was almost certainly the owner of the house. Her clothing was neat but not fine, but her gaze was very direct. She took us in with a mixture of interest and what I took to be disapproval – ironic, from someone of her profession.

“Hello,” said Miss Howard. “You remember me, mum. This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He’s here about Alice. I’m sorry.” This last was in response to the unnamed woman’s frown.

“Good day, madam,” said Holmes. He spoke in his usual courteous tones, though they conflicted greatly with his style of dress. “I wish only to ask you some questions.”

“Oh, do you?” she asked. “Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you understand I am not entirely willing to answer them. Good day.” Holmes placed his foot in the door as she closed it, and pushed it open again.

“Please,” said Miss Howard. “If he can help...”

Her face softened, though she tried not to show it. “I doubt he can, Nell.”

“Please, just let him talk to you?”

“Nell. Do you know what could – well. I suppose the damage is done. Come in, then.”

The woman opened the door with ill grace. “Thank you,” said Holmes. “I fear my foot was not made to be rammed into door frames. This is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson.” She inclined her head grimly to me, and I did the same to her.

“Come,” she said. “You too, Nell.”

“Thanks, but I’ll just go home, then,” said the girl, starting down the steps. “I’m sorry about them, just – it’s Alice. You know where to find me.”

“As you like.” She took us through a hall smelling of herbs and carbolic acid to what I supposed to be her consulting room, as it were. She did not ask us to sit. I tried not to examine the room too closely, pushing away the images that forced themselves to my mind. God, it even smelled like a consulting room. I attempted to occupy myself with thoughts of what the one, very proper, actual female physician I had met would think of the sign in this woman’s window.

“Do you really believe Alice Ward is still alive, Mr. Holmes?” she began. “It would be very cruel to tell Nell such a thing with no chance of proof.”

“I have told Miss Howard nothing,” said Holmes.

“And what are you charging her?” she asked, glaring at him.

“I have taken this case purely out of interest. I am not exploiting the girl.”

“Interest in _what_?”

“It is rather unusual, even here, for a woman to disappear in broad daylight, is it not? I assure you I have no interest in stopping your practice.”

“Oh? But you have friends who do, certainly. What did you want to ask me?”

“Tell me about Miss Ward’s visit to you.”

“You don’t need to know why Alice was here,” she began. “After that was done -”

“Actually, I would like to know what procedure you used,” I said. It would make it more clear how the poor girl had died.

Holmes looked startled, then nodded at me. The woman frowned, and said, “I suppose you already have all the evidence you need to turn me in, if that is your intention. I only gave her tansy. It was not very far advanced. I told her if her bleeding had not started in three days to return to me, but I think it was enough. However, it certainly wouldn’t have been enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. It wouldn’t have taken effect so soon, either.”

“She showed no signs of sensitivity to it, or illness?” I asked.

“No.”

“What happened after?” asked Holmes.

“She left at noon. She was as well as could be expected under the circumstances, but I had told her to go straight home and be careful, and not to see customers if she could manage it, and she’d said she would. The next day Nell came, scared out of her wits, and said she’d never come home.”

“Did Miss Ward speak to you about anyone she had met in the last week? A man?”

“She said only that she’d been with a rich man, and he was a lovesick bastard but he paid well.”

“Ah,” said Holmes, pleased. “Lovesick for someone else, or for her?”

“For her, I assume. She wouldn’t care otherwise. Alice doesn’t care about men’s feelings unless she must.”

“She said nothing else?”

“Not of him. Is that all?”

“You saw no strangers around your home that day? Miss Ward seemed normal and unafraid?”

“Of course she wasn’t normal that day. But not more so than is usual for my patients.”

“And you know nothing more of her after she left here.”

“Right. If you are quite done, Mr. Holmes, I have business to attend to. You have used enough of my time already.”

“Of course. Good day, madam.”

We left quickly. I followed Holmes, hoping he was taking us to better streets where we might have a chance of finding a hansom.

“We should have kept Miss Howard with us, Watson,” he said. “I was a fool not to realize that. But it went well enough, nevertheless, and I have a little more information. If only there was some assurance that it was a true lead rather than utter coincidence. However, it is our only chance. If Miss Ward has been murdered she’ll be in either potter’s field or the Thames by now, and no chance of recovering her. I admit it was purely on a hunch that I took the case, and Mrs. Dyer may have proven that wrong.”

“Mrs. Dyer?”

“She had cleared all her papers off her desk, but not her cabinets. Her name was on a letter on top of one. She is doing very well for herself. I suspect she subscribes to medical journals, as there was evidence she practices antisepsis. Admirable, and highly unusual for someone in her trade. Mostly, however, she deals in medications and not more invasive procedures.”

I ignored his estimation of her character and said merely, “Good. If you have her name and address we can take them to Scotland Yard and have her arrested.”

“We shall do nothing of the sort, Watson. Certainly not until I am definite in my mind about the case.”

“But she will know we are after her! If she can be held in custody for one thing, we’ll have her when the case is over.”

“You are assuming she is guilty of Miss Ward’s murder, intentional or otherwise.”

“If she isn’t, who is?”

“What evidence is there?”

“Holmes, she is an _abortionist_! Thousands of women die at their hands!” The images of the last girls I had seen with septicaemia, or the spasms of herbal poisoning, or perforated organs, were clear in my head. It brought to my mind another, more beloved, woman, dying under my hands with the blood pouring out of her. The air seemed thick as water in my lungs.

“Yes, I am aware. Watson, she is certainly not the only one in London, and I have just told you – and as a doctor you should have been able to see for yourself – that she would be far safer as a choice than most of them.”

“Safer? There’s little chance of safety at all. Have you ever seen a woman dying of a botched abortion, Holmes?” My mind was full of pictures of blood pouring over white sheets. Not only hospital sheets, either.

I had stopped entirely, blocking his progress. He stared at me. “No. But I said -”

“Nothing of the sort should be allowed. And there are the _children_ to think of, Holmes.” God, I did not want to think of the children.

“Women and children die in childbirth every day, Watson, as you should well know. Should that be allowed?”

That was, of course, the point. I gritted my teeth, trying to keep back my emotions. “At least that is nature’s work, and not man’s.” It felt like a dead platitude, as it always had.

“As I understand it men have quite a lot to do with it. I am sure our client would agree.”

It was too damned much. He saw me flinch. I recognized his next studying look and found myself avoiding his gaze without meaning to. He drew in a sharp breath.

“Mary,” he whispered. “Watson, I am sorry. I did not know.”

“I thought you could read my mind, Holmes.” I was beyond controlling myself. “But you needn’t be sorry. I know damned well I killed her.” He reached out, and I stepped back, then turned and left him.

After the first few blind minutes I tried to head towards better looking streets, until at last I was somewhere populated, with carriage traffic and well-dressed pedestrians. The expression on my face seemed to be frightening people. I tried to calm myself.

I could not go to my club. I had sold my practice. There was nowhere else but Baker Street, and I certainly could not go there. Furthermore, all of them would require taking a cab, and I needed to walk in this mood. I turned west, so at least I would not take myself farther from home, and strode off with no other concern for where I was going.

***

It was very late that night when I at last made my way up the steps to our apartment, after exploring what felt like half of London without truly seeing any of it. My leg ached as it had not done for years. The smell of Holmes’ tobacco, however, told me before I entered that despite the hour he was still awake.

He stood as I entered, holding his pipe. The air above it swirled with smoke. He must have been there all afternoon, but he had opened a window and the atmosphere was not intolerable. “My dear Watson,” he said at once, “forgive me for my thoughtlessness. I did not consider the potential significance of my words.”

“Nothing to forgive,” I said, limping to the chair which he solicitously moved closer to me. “You could not have known. I should have told you before now. I am sorry for thinking to interfere with your work.”

“I prefer it when you accompany me, my dear fellow. Please understand that, in most cases, I should have taken your advice on the matter. It is merely the singularity of Mrs. Dyer’s establishment that makes me believe it counterproductive in this case.”

I would have preferred to leave it at that, but Holmes deserved an explanation. “It was last November,” I said. “There had been no signs that anything was amiss. We were looking forward to it.” An unbelievable understatement, after five childless years. “And then she haemorrhaged, and I could not stop it, and the child was stillborn. I cannot think of any such thing now without it reminding me. I know it is illogical. God, I wish – That is why I reacted so. I trust your judgement.”

“Thank you. Again, I am most terribly sorry for reminding you.” We sat in silence for some time. I was remembering my secret additional gladness upon his return, that I now had an excuse to leave my practice and never assist in another birth.

At last Holmes said, “Watson, do not think I am entirely unfeeling. I have before now reported or myself stopped abortionists. Very often they kill more than they help – my concern, I admit, is primarily for the women. But I should hate to force women into the mercy of those villains by prosecuting Mrs. Dyer. There is, alas, no chance that there will be no call for her services, at least until the world is a far better place than it is now.”

I sighed and nodded.

“And – Watson?”

“Yes?”

“You are an excellent doctor. Look at me, Watson.” I could not disobey him. “You did not kill your wife. I know you, Watson, and I know that you must have done everything you could to save her. The man you are – a man I admire wholeheartedly – could not do otherwise.” Looking into his eyes, I could not doubt that he meant every word.

Compliments from Holmes were so rare that I could only sit speechless for some time after this. At last I asked, “Do you truly believe that she had nothing to do with the girl’s death? If so, I shall do as you wish.”

“Not only that,” said he, “but I believe Miss Ward is still alive.”

“Still alive! How? Where?”

He smiled. “We shall see tomorrow. I have been sending telegrams and considering the matter all afternoon. Get some rest, Watson; you’ll need it.” With that, he put out his pipe and retired to his bedroom.

I sat for another moment, gathering my energy, and then limped up the stairs to bed.

***

When I made my way to breakfast the next morning, a trifle later than my usual time, a heap of telegrams sat on the table next to Holmes, and Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard was arguing with him over toast.

“I can’t enter a gentleman’s house without a warrant, Mr. Holmes! You know it as well as I.”

“I don’t wish you to enter it, I want a police guard on the place as I do. Ah, good morning, Watson. Feeling up to some exertion?”

I admitted I was and exchanged greetings with the inspector as I sat down. The top telegram read “Man named Hastings with two fraud convictions. Worked as butler. Out of prison for two years – Gregson.” I couldn’t imagine what it had to do with the case.

“Eat quickly, Watson,” said Holmes, who wasn’t eating anything.

“I can’t overlook you housebreaking, either, Mr. Holmes. Especially not for a Whitechapel whore, against the word of a gentleman. I don’t see your reasoning, either; we’ve never heard any complaints against the man before.”

“You have quite misunderstood me, Inspector. I will enter on an invitation. I simply need the place watched. It is a matter of kidnapping, and you know as well as I do how likely that is to lead to murder.”

“Watched,” said Lestrade. “And that’s all?”

“If your men hear a cry of distress from within, they will be forced to investigate, will they not?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then all that shall be required of them is that they do their duty if it is necessary.”

Lestrade sighed. “I won’t ask,” he said. “I’ll be happier if I don’t. This had better not be a fool’s errand, and I won’t take the blame if it is. Very well, then. Thank you for the breakfast, Mr. Holmes. I suppose I’m off to the Yard.”

He picked up his hat and turned to the door. As he was leaving he stopped on the threshold and said, “Ah – good day, miss.”

There was a surprised squeak, and then Miss Howard ducked around the official detective and into our sitting room. Lestrade glanced at her, then shook his head and closed the door behind him.

“Miss Howard,” said Holmes. “Good. We must be off.”

“Where are we going?”

“We are going,” said Holmes, “to recover your friend.”

“You found Alice?” Her mouth opened with pure joy.

“Do not congratulate me yet,” said Holmes. “She may yet be dead. Just a minute.” He disappeared into his room and returned with a plain grey dress over his arm. “You’d better put this on over your clothes,” he said, as I wondered why on earth he had such a thing. “It won’t fit you, but it will look respectable enough, and you will need to to come with us.”

I pulled Holmes to the side as she dressed. “Surely you cannot mean to lead the girl into danger, no matter what she is?”

“There is no danger,” said he. “The villain will not be at home, according to my contacts. I doubt he has even made any attempt at security. We shall merely have to intimidate the servants.”

“Your contacts?”

“I sent a great number of telegrams yesterday afternoon. This is the result.”

“But why bring Miss Howard at all?”

“If Miss Ward is still alive, as is most likely, she will be very unlikely to trust us. We shall need Miss Howard then, to comfort her. That is all. I don’t wish to have to deal with hysterics, and after the trials I believe she has had Miss Ward will likely be far from rational.”

If the now respectable appearing Miss Howard had admired a four-wheeler, she was awed by Park Lane. She hunched over and hid behind Holmes and me as we walked up the steps of the house – quite a small one, by the standards of the neighbourhood.

Holmes rang the bell. “We are here,” he said when the door opened, “to see Mr. Harrington Edwards.”

It took me a moment to recognize the name from the visiting card. Then I was amazed. However, Holmes apparently had not accounted for the recalcitrance of the English servant.

“Mr. Edwards is out,” said the butler, without asking for our cards.

“We’ll wait in the drawing room, then,” said Holmes calmly.

“I am afraid it may be some time before he returns, sir,” the butler said, with clear disdain in the honorific.

“We’ll wait until he does,” said Holmes. He slid his foot inside, pushed the door out of the butler’s hand, and entered.

“If you have a debt of Mr. Edwards’ to settle -” The butler began, trying to prevent us following Holmes.

“Only an urgent matter to discuss,” I said. Miss Howard ducked past both of us; I was not as agile as she, but the servant stopped to stare at her, evidently having missed her before, and I passed him as he turned.

“It does not matter how urgent the matter is,” the man said. “Mr. Edwards will not be seeing visitors today, and I request that you -”

Holmes stepped past the man, shut the door, and leaned against it, projecting an aura of menace. Miss Howard and I were behind the butler, who had the sense to focus on Holmes as the main threat. “Mr. Hastings,” he said, startling the butler into silence, “your loyalty to your employer’s orders in this matter is rather contradicted by your embezzlement of his funds. I am certain that, despite the young man’s gullibility, his father has a rather better head on his shoulders, and would be interested to learn that his impression of his son’s reckless spendthrift tendencies has been deliberately exaggerated. Now, if you would be so kind, show us up to the guest room holding Mr. Edwards’ new mistress, and no one else need know anything of the matter.”

Hastings, who had been looking more and more furtive as Holmes’ monologue went on, suddenly appeared horrified and said, “Certainly not!” Holmes’ expression held for a moment an almost comical amount of surprise, and then turned thoughtful.

“We should have brought our revolvers, Watson,” he said. His laugh had its usual foreboding of danger to our quarry, but another note as well. “Oh, well, there’s nothing for it now, and we will at least have the advantage of surprise.”

“You can’t hurt Alice!” said Miss Howard.

“Nothing was further from my mind,” said Holmes. “Now then, Hastings, the location of the room. After that, I think you had better find yourself a preoccupying task, and soon.”

The butler, however, had had enough. He shoved past us, ran down the hallway, and slammed the door behind him.

“Blast!” said Holmes. “Quickly, in case he decides to warn him after all.” He leapt up the staircase, I at his heels and Miss Howard’s shoes clunking behind me.

Holmes put out a hand to keep us standing at the end of the first hallway, and walked down it alone, his feet nearly silent. He stopped at each door to hold his ear to the wood. However, his search seemed to be fruitless, for he returned to us and shook his head.

“The next floor will all be servant’s rooms,” he said quietly, glancing at the join where the expensive carpeting was replaced by threadbare linoleum. “They are here, then, but silent. Watson, come with me, and be ready to defend yourself. Miss Howard, you had best remain here until we call you.”

Holmes quickly opened and shut the first three doors, all leading to empty guestrooms. He was moving as quietly as possible, and I could tell by his expression his annoyance at the inevitable sounds.

He moved more slowly toward the next door, but behind that was another staircase. He looked at me, nodded, and then cautiously tested the knob of the last door. It was locked.

We both lifted our canes. Then Holmes took a step back, shifted his weight, and kicked the door firmly just beside the knob. A second kick thrust it open and we rushed in.

It was lucky I had my stick up, for as Holmes stumbled slightly entering the room a young man ran up with a poker. I managed to ward it away from my friend as he recovered his balance, and then the man brought it around and landed a blow on my ribcage. I gasped and Holmes brought his cane down on the man’s shoulder, and would have hit his head had he not jerked away at the last minute.

The stranger was thin, and in very poor training, but extremely determined. As they struggled he kept shouting, “I love her! She loves me! You fiends! You won’t harm her!” I kicked him in the knee and he crumpled. We at last managed to subdue him, and I held him down as Holmes tied his wrists and ankles with some of the garments on the floor. At last, I could take in the room.

Our captive was partially dressed, but clothes – mostly women’s clothes – still littered the floor. By the window, which faced the street, there was a desk upon which rested a pile of fine dresses, and against the far wall was a large four-poster bed, which held a naked young woman, sheets clutched around herself.

She was very thin and very pale, her eyelids dark with worry and sleeplessness. Her hair was a rich brown, recently washed but tangled. I stepped toward the bed to see if she was injured and she glared at me and wrapped the blankets tighter about herself, eyes darting around as if looking for a weapon or an escape route. I realized there was blood on the sheets and stepped closer. She gasped, eyes going wide.

“Watson,” said Holmes. “Fetch Miss Howard.”

It was, however, unnecessary. Miss Howard hurried in herself, alerted by the end of our struggle at the door. “Alice!” she cried.

The girl on the bed looked up at her, gasped, “Ellen!” and burst into tears. Miss Howard embraced her. I looked away to give their very emotional reunion some privacy. Holmes had thrown open the window and was leaning out and blowing on his police whistle.

“That should do it,” he said, turning. “Miss Ward, I am sorry to interrupt, but you had better dress.” He turned to the clothes on the table and lifted some.

“Not those!” said Miss Ward, with some panic. “Not his!”

“Here, Alice,” said Miss Howard, and she took off the dress Holmes had given her and offered it to her friend. She was still wearing all her own clothes underneath. I turned around again as Miss Ward began to change. Sherlock Holmes, as was his usual behaviour on such occasions (and I have been in such circumstances with him more often than I would like), acted as if a nude woman was no different from a mediocre sculpture.

Just as she stood, dressed, Lestrade entered with two men. He took in the five of us and sighed. “I suppose that’s Mr. Edwards?” he asked, indicating the man lying on the ground glaring at us.

“Yes, and these men have forced their way into my house and my rooms, assaulted me, bound me, and intend to harm my...” He abruptly quieted as he tried to find a word for his relationship with Miss Ward.

“Victim,” Holmes supplied. “Arrest him on charges of kidnapping, rape, and probably assault as well.”

Lestrade inhaled through his teeth. “I believe you, Mr. Holmes, but I don’t know if we can make it stick in court.”

He did, however, arrest the man, and we all went off to the Yard, where Holmes as usual somehow managed to worm us out of any charges for illegal entry. Miss Ward was offered the services of a police surgeon to check that she was free of harm, but she had been in close consultation with Miss Howard on the trip there, and so I was not entirely surprised when she pointed at me and said, “He’s a doctor. I’ll take him.”

She sat silently staring at the wall as I examined her, and then lay just as silently staring at the ceiling. I had been worried by the blood, which had kept flowing lightly on the way and now stained her dress, until I remembered her trip to Mrs. Dyer only days before. I questioned her about the symptoms and they seemed to be normal for such things and not overly worrying. I managed to keep my hands from shaking. Apart from that she was only slightly bruised.

“He said he was just taking me out to dinner and such,” she said tiredly. “He didn’t attack me. Not really. No use fighting them.”

At last I was finished, and soon after we were allowed to leave. Holmes insisted on the two of them coming back to Baker Street with us, and after another whispered discussion, during which I distinctly heard the word “fairies,” they agreed.

On the way he stopped at a shop, and shortly after we arrived, as Miss Ward changed in Holmes’ room, various men came up the stairs and began to assemble a large cold meal in our sitting room. As they did so I attempted to convince Holmes to allow me to examine him for injuries.

“I’m better off than you are, Watson,” he said at last. “Look to your own injuries.”

“Yes, I’ve a broken rib,” I said. “I bandaged it at the Yard. Just don’t make me laugh and I’ll be fine. Everything else is mere bruises.”

I heard Miss Ward and Miss Howard come out of Holmes’ room behind me. “Well,” said Holmes. “That’s – logical.”

I turned. Miss Ward was wearing trousers, tightly belted and with the cuffs turned up. I recalled Holmes telling her to make free of his costume wardrobe, though even he seemed not to have expected this. I resisted my urge to turn away from the indecent sight.

“Dinner is prepared, if you would care to join us,” Holmes said, and we all sat and availed ourselves of it. Breakfast felt extremely far away after the morning’s exertions. Afterwards, the oddities of our company’s dress mostly hidden by the table, Holmes steepled his fingers before him and said, “You have had a terrible shock, Miss Ward, but if you could clear up a few points for me I would be most grateful.”

“First,” she said suspiciously, “what’ll you be charging Ellen for this?”

“Nothing,” said Holmes. “I thank you both for bringing this extremely interesting case to my attention. The work is its own reward.”

“I told you,” said Miss Howard. “I’m not such an utter fool as you think I am, Alice.”

“I’ve got reason, haven’t I?” Miss Ward replied, but they were smiling at each other fondly. She looked at Holmes, and the smile faded. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“As you like. If I -” He caught my eye on him. He wished to describe the course of events, to see if his reasoning was correct. I hoped, however, that he would have to sense not to ask a woman to listen calmly as he detailed her own abduction to her. He nodded at me. “There, on the desk behind you, Watson, are the telegrams I received in response to those I sent yesterday. After our talk with Mrs. Dyer -” I stiffened, mostly with embarrassment, but he continued on smoothly “- I realized that I must focus my efforts on Mr. Edwards, even if I could not at first see a mechanism for it. I visited his house, and spoke to the servants, and found I was looking at it from the wrong angle. You see, Miss Ward, once he had met you he became obsessed with you, with helping you and taking you away from the sordid life he had convinced himself you lived, and so he began to hunt for you. It was no chance meeting.”

“I guessed,” she said. “He kept saying he was in love with me and couldn’t bear to see me ‘like that.’ He was one of the romantic ones, that’s never done it before and can’t stand the idea that anything they think is pretty lives in the slums.” Contempt for the man dripped off her tone.

“Yes,” said Holmes. “I looked him up in Burke’s – he’s the heir to a baronetcy – and then wired everyone who might be willing to tell me of him. It was not too difficult; my reputation has its uses. I should have predicted, however, that with a new – that he would not keep to his usual schedule today. It would have been far quicker, Watson, had we simply taken the precaution of bringing the revolvers, and hopefully I shall not make such an elementary mistake again. However, that is all done with now.”

“Yes,” said Miss Howard, “and thanks for the dinner, but we need to go.”

“One moment,” said Holmes. He crossed to his desk and pulled a handful of coins out of a drawer. The young women froze in the act of standing.

“We -” said Miss Ward, and stopped. They looked at each other.

“As I said,” said Holmes calmly, “I have found this case to be of surpassing interest. I am in your debt, rather than you being in mine. This is merely an attempt to restore the balance.”

They looked at each other again, with the same clear mixture of confusion and wounded pride and desperation, and then Miss Ward took a step forward, and stopped. Miss Howard frowned at her, then walked forward herself, took the money from Holmes, and secreted it on her person.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice tight, and they left.

“They may only spend it on gin,” I said afterwards, though I doubted it.

“I think not,” said Holmes. “They showed no signs of it, unlike most of their kind. They have each other, instead. Let us hope that is enough for Miss Ward, as she recovers.”

I tried to keep my gaze away from the drawer where Holmes had used to keep his cocaine. I had not seen him take it since his return. I still have not. I do not dare to hope, yet.

“I admit,” he continued, appearing to notice neither the direction of my thoughts nor his own unaccustomed sentimentality, “I wondered for some time whether the girl had left of her own accord, but I find I am pleased for her friend’s sake to know she did not, though it leaves me with another little problem on my hands.”

That little problem, as he put it, has finally been cleared up after some serious difficulties, and Miss Nightingale’s School for Nurses now has two new, very junior students. I long ago stopped believing in my companion’s claims to heartlessness.

Alas, the charges did not stick, and Harrington Edwards was cleared of all wrongdoing except the light charge of soliciting prostitutes. Such is the way of the world. However, after a moment of fury Holmes sent a number of telegrams, and as a result I believe the man’s public life has been extremely disrupted.

I know nothing of Mrs. Dyer at present, though I assume she still practices. But despite my fears, I have not had nightmares of Mary’s death for weeks, and I often fall asleep to the sound of Holmes’ violin.


End file.
